Dropping Acid
by Write0rDie
Summary: The Doctor and Clara's picnic is ruined by acid rain. Contains showering for legit medical reasons with non-graphic nudity.


The evidence of a chaotic adventure lay scattered around the console room.

Two sets of wet footprints came from the door. By the console were sodden clothes, not in neat folded piles, but rather hastily flung, inside-out and dripping. One of Clara's shoes had landed on the jump seat, the other had tumbled down the stairs. The Doctor's hoodie hung in a tangled mess from the railing while his left boot lay embedded in the telepathic circuit.

Water dripped through the deck and onto the engine covers below. Paint began to blister and peel. Metal groaned and buckled as if the TARDIS herself were writhing in agony.

The cloister bell sounded.

A TARDIS tantrum was imminent.

* * *

Despite the mess, the TARDIS kindly provided The Doctor and Clara with immediate access to a bathroom.

The room now billowed with steam. Not much could be seen through the vapour, except for the vague outline of two figures; one tall and lean, the other, short and round. They stood under what could only be described as a waterfall coming out of a high ledge along the wall.

Clara's eyes were screwed shut from the stinging and she spluttered as her head surfaced from underneath the spray. "Did you even check the weather report?" she asked.

"Of course I did." The Doctor stood a few feet away, furiously scrubbing at his hair.

"Did it say, oh I don't know, chance of _acid rain_ perhaps?"

".. Might have."

Clara raised her voice to compete over the sound of the rushing water, which strangely only got louder when _she_ spoke. "Doctor! I could've been dissolved!"

She heard him splash over on the tiled floor. " _We_ , Clara. _We_ could have been dissolved."

She didn't quite know where to put her hands but thankfully the waterfall shower was doing a decent job of covering everything.

He tipped her chin up to get a better look at the damage and peeled her eyelids open, before giving her face a quick flush under the running water.

Clara spluttered and coughed. "Please tell me my eyes aren't going to fall out."

"You'll be fine. May lose some eyelashes though."

"Got plenty of those. Thankfully." Clara tipped her head back again under the shower and smoothed the wet hair back off her face.

"How's the rest of you?" he asked, eyes doing a quick scan over her pink skin.

"Fine," she said quickly. "Just fine, thank you." She found herself blushing, hands moving to cover herself. She realised the effort was futile and then decided her best course of action was to pretend not to care. The Doctor saw through it.

"It's just skin, Clara," he said as he splashed back to his spot under the shower to resume his scrubbing.

"Yes," she hissed. "And it's _my_ skin. My _private_ skin, thank you very much."

She thought about the day. About how excited she was to have a day off. No running. No aliens. Just a nice picnic on a sunny, exotic planet. That was until they were interrupted by a sun shower.

Normally not a problem, except that the food laid out on the blanket began to bubble and melt, and then, so did they. Thinking quickly, The Doctor threw his jacket over Clara's head and they ran back to the TARDIS, post-haste.

There was shrieking. Mostly from Clara. And frantic disrobing. Yelled orders, a sprint down the corridor to the blessed relief of water on their burning skin.

 _Their_ skin.

She turned towards him. He was going on and on about how friends showering together was considered perfectly normal in most cultures and how humans were so prudish about these things and how..

"Doctor, are you okay? Did the acid get you?" she asked, slightly ashamed that she hadn't thought to see if he was alright.

"I'm fine," The Doctor said bluntly.

As he lathered up his hands with some soap, he grasped the soap bar a little too hard and it shot up and slid across the floor like a hockey puck. He carefully tip-toed after it.

Clara thought for a moment. "Hang on. How can you be fine? We were in the rain together."

She shut her eyes quickly when she realised The Doctor was about to bend down to retrieve the soap, right in front of her. Some things you just can't un-see.

He re-appeared, waving the soap bar. "I wear more layers than you. Jacket. Hoodie. T-shirt. Not to mention, superior Gallifreyan physiology."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, more subdural and subcutaneous layers." He dropped the bar into her hand. "Thicker skin, essentially. Try the soap." He trotted back to his spot.

Clara lathered up and spread the foam over her arms. He was right; the soap was soothing and it smelled of Aloe Vera and oats and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. Alien probably.

"Lucky you," she said. "I'm going to need a _serious_ amount of moisturiser when I get out of here. Speaking of which, got an ETA on that?"

The Doctor looked over. Through the water he could see that Clara's skin was still an angry red in patches and the acid rain had unfortunately loosened her toe nail polish. It would need to be re-done. Could be worse.

"Another 5 minutes should do it. Make sure you get all the joiny bits."

" _Joiny_ bits? What do you mean by-"

Just then the lights flickered and the stream of water started to tilt at an odd angle. In fact the entire room began to tilt. Clara fell towards The Doctor and they crashed the floor, clutching one another as they slid along the tiles.

The bathroom plunged into darkness. The wall was now the floor. They came to rest, a pile of tangled limbs.

"Aha! Caught the soap," he said triumphantly.


End file.
